


summer nights

by orphan_account



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:22:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment a flirtation becomes something more. Written for larienelengasse, for the My Slashy Valentine 2015 event! Featuring Erestor/Legolas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	summer nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [larienelengasse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/larienelengasse/gifts).



The instruments were drums and whistles, harps, flutes, four-stringed _ovrach_ , silver chimes, bells and clear voices. The songs were Silvan chants with clapping hands and wild, joyous reels. Many of the dances were formless. Others had steps and patterns, and the young prince led Erestor through them. As long as Legolas’ hand was upon his waist, he could not miss a step.

He did not dance – yet here he was. Some distant, rational part of him recognized it as the magic of the Wood-elves. Often had he heard of the power spun into their songs, but he had dismissed the tales. Erestor believed them better now.

The music pulsed through him, and he closed his eyes and let it take him. The harpists flung forth notes like suns, bright and burning, fire in his veins; his heart was one with the drums. Later, when his mind was again his own, he would remember only the music and the mad pulsing beneath his skin and Legolas’ fingers tight on his wrists as they spun and stepped in time.

He remembered the prince as a child – the prince, reaching his majority – the prince in the rose gardens of Imladris, his fair hair loose in the moonlight – quiet conversations in the library – brushing shoulders in the halls – shared, shy looks— He remembered the first dream he had had of the prince in his arms, and the hours he had spent pouring over books to scrub it from his mind because he would not and could not think that way of Legolas. The prince was kind, nothing more. And yet, here they were, here they _were_ , and that was a magic all of its own.

Lanterns hung by spider-silk cords from the trees. They looked like stars, fallen to earth, and Legolas did, too. Their glow and his gold hair blurred together and wove a net from which he never wished to be free. Erestor curled his fingers in the prince’s sash and pulled him in, knowing they were already as close as they could be, wishing they could be closer.

He did not know how long he danced, but when he dragged himself from the heart of the clearing, his knees were weak and his heart beat more quickly even than the frantic drums. Legolas’ hand had left a warm place upon his hip. Erestor sank onto one of the benches, and reached shakily for a goblet of the Elvenking’s sweet wine. It soothed his throat and burned it at once.

Slowly, his mind came back to him, and the longer he remained still, the more the magic waned. He found his feet still tapped, yet he could now resist the magic that had made him dance so well and so wildly. A flush crept up his cheeks. He was now glad that Glorfindel had not accompanied him here. Never again would he have been able to sit out on one of the Elf-lord’s ponderous waltzes had Glorfindel seen how Erestor had danced tonight.

Leaning back against the table, his mind wandered. He wondered if there was even magic in the music, or simply magic in _him_. Certainly, the places where Legolas had touched him still buzzed with warmth and a kind of power that Erestor could not understand. It had been so long since someone had taken him dancing—

Lindir’s harp took up the melody then. He seemed entirely lost in the notes, mindless, thoughtless, merely a vessel for the music that poured from his fingers. Erestor watched him for a long time.

“How do you find our feast?”

The voice shook him from his thoughts. Legolas was perched upon the table beside him, legs folded beneath him, fair hair loose about his shoulders. There were flowers in his braids and rings upon his fingers, and a silver crown that sat jauntily upon his head.

“They are – unlike anything I have seen.”

A proud smile touched the prince’s lips. “Come! Come dance again—“ He caught Erestor’s wrist and pulled.

The advisor shook his head and laid his hand over the prince’s. “I am not so tireless as you, child.” Legolas raised an eyebrow. “No,” Erestor teased, “you are still a child, though you are well past your majority. Are you not the youngest of the fair folk in all these woods?”

“I am, but I would hope that I am more than just a ‘child’ to you.”

Erestor studied him. “I am too old for games, my prince.”

“I would hope I am not simply a prince to you, either.” Legolas’ eyes were warm and playful, but there was something somber in his expression. Erestor was not surprised to find it. Grieving was as common as breathing in these woods.

“I count you as a friend.” That took effort to say, and he washed down the unpleasant words with a sip of wine.

Legolas’ pale skin flushed – though with what, the advisor could not say. But his tone did not change. “And I count you as one of mine, my lord Erestor.” His eyes went to the musicians, and something fearless turned his lips up into a smile. “But come, come! Dance!”

“Not just yet. Is there not—“ Erestor gestured vaguely with the goblet. “Is there nowhere that is more _quiet_? I am unaccustomed to celebrations such as this.”

“It comes of spending so much time with your books,” the prince observed with a smile. He was only half-joking; Erestor knew all too well what Legolas thought of studying. A bow suited him better than a book, as he had discovered after long hours attempting to tutor him in the long history of the Elves. “Follow, then, if you would have silence! It shall be hard enough to find tonight, but for you—?” A cheeky smile followed. “Anything.”

They walked a long time. Neither thought to speak. Legolas seemed intent on picking his way through the underbrush, half dancing to the faint strains of music that worked themselves through the trees, swaying and humming, sometimes singing outright. Erestor focused on following his clear voice and light feet. His own robes and shoes were thunderously loud against the ground and fallen twigs in comparison to Legolas’ bare feet, and he found himself conscious of every step. He told himself that was why his heart was racing – and not because every step bore him farther from the crowd, and closer to a few precious minutes alone with the prince.

They crossed the flank of a hill and through a narrow path lined with tall trees. Branches creaked and groaned in welcome as they passed. Legolas brushed fingers against them, whispered soft nothings to them, as Erestor watched in wonder.

“Careful here,” the prince said after a while, and took the advisor’s hand.

There was naught at all on the path to be careful of. Legolas did not seem to be taking particular care, either – he merely twined his fingers with Erestor’s, smiled, and led them on.

Finally, they stopped. The clearing they were in now looked just the same as the one they had left, and Erestor had the odd feeling that perhaps they had not left at all, and they had simply been walking for hours and hours, alone, together, and all the others had gone, leaving them alone. But that was foolish. Too often around Legolas, he caught himself letting his dreams affect his reason.

“The stars—“ There was delight in the prince’s wide eyes as he turned his face upwards. Moonlight left soft shadows in the contours of his face. Erestor could see the fine texture of his lips and the slope of his cheekbones in perfect detail, and for the second time that night, he wanted them desperately _closer_. “How fair they are!”

Looking up, Erestor studied the stars dusted across the sky. He thought of light flashing on a silver needle, Legolas’ pale hands, the taste of spring water, white roses in bloom. “Yes.” Looking down, he found that one of those hands was still settled comfortably in his own. “Legolas—“

Yet he did not know what to say. He felt very far away and very close at once. Reaching out again, he slipped his free hand into the prince’s sash, and drew him in. Legolas tore his eyes from the night sky in surprise. Erestor faltered, shy for a moment, then took a strengthening breath. “Legolas—“

And then the prince’s hands were on his upper arms and his own arm had slipped about Legolas’ slim waist, the brocade of his tunic both silky and rough against his palms. As one, they drew themselves together. Legolas closed his eyes, in submission or trust, in a flood of hope or fear, and Erestor kissed him – and though there may have been some magic in the music that night that had brought him out to dance, he knew then that the true power had lain within Legolas, and that it was the fair prince that had worked his charms on him, and not any minstrel or musician.

They parted after a moment. Legolas almost laughed, and shook his head, disbelieving. Erestor simply smiled. Half-closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the prince’s as the light of the stars and Legolas’ eyes and the moon above all seemed to blur together, as if into dawn.

**Author's Note:**

> larienelengasse -- Hope you enjoy! These two are too cute, and I can never resist first kiss moments. <3


End file.
